


Tyrannies of Our Own Biology

by originally



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Adam saved the delegates but not the towers, Angst, Aug Kink, M/M, Post-Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally
Summary: When the London police pick Adam up in the aftermath of the bombing at Apex, help comes from an unexpected source.





	Tyrannies of Our Own Biology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



When the laser grid flickers off and the reinforced cell door pushes open, Adam is already on his feet.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, clank,” the cop says. “Someone vouched for you.”

“I told you I’m with Interpol,” Adam says. “Who vouched for me?”

The cop ignores him. Adam hopes, for once, that it was Miller. The comm dampeners in this place have silenced his infolink and he’s heard nothing since the anti-terrorism unit gathered him up in the confusion of Apex, along with any other aug who stood still too long. He doesn’t even know who made it out alive.

When they reach the lobby, though, it’s not Miller waiting for him. It’s not even Vega.

“Hello, Adam,” David Sarif says, a strange, small smile playing around his lips. “Looks like you had a busy night. Thank you, officer.”

The last is to the cop, who grunts, shoves a bag of personal effects at Adam and walks away, leaving Adam and Sarif to stare at one another. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in the flesh since Panchaea. Though, flesh might not be the right word these days. Adam looks him up and down, wondering what other new hardware might be hiding under Sarif’s sharp suit. The new augmented left arm he had noticed on their vid-call is even flashier in person, an intricate design in black and gold to match the right. Trust Sarif to be flaunting luxe augs when the rest of the augmented population can’t walk the streets without fear. He looks healthy and fit, though the grey at his temples has spread a little further.

“What are you doing here?” Adam says, when it becomes obvious that it’s his turn to speak.

“Rescuing you from spending the night in a jail cell. It looks as if it’s going to take Interpol a while to get all their ducks in the same room, forget about a row. Come on, my apartment’s not far from here.”

He turns on his heel, leaving Adam to stare after him.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Sarif calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Adam mutters, shrugging his coat back on and following. “Right.”

*

Sarif’s apartment turns out to be a penthouse, a sleek, minimalist panopticon with three-sixty degree views of the city. Adam strides to the window, looking out across the skyscrapers and the river to the smoke still rising from the convention centre in the distance. It looks no different from the smog that lingers like a pall over the rest of London; no one would see it if they didn't know where to look. He reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes but comes up empty. He must have lost the pack, or it’s still waiting for him somewhere in an Interpol plane along with whoever should be debriefing him.

“Got any smokes?” he asks Sarif, who raises a carefully groomed eyebrow.

“I didn’t save your life so you could poison yourself with that shit, Adam.” He presses a discreet button and a panel opens in the smooth, white wall, revealing a decanter and two glasses. “Whiskey?”

“Isn’t that why there's a Sarif Industries rebreather in my chest?” Adam counters, but he takes the proffered glass.

The whiskey is the good stuff, peaty Scotch that warms him from the inside out. He closes his eyes, savouring the way it burns on the way down, and when he opens them, Sarif is watching him.

“How did you find me?” Adam says.

“Explosions, sirens, a lot of police chatter about augmented terrorists.” Sarif shrugs. “Seemed like the kind of thing you tend to get mixed up in.”

It’s not a real answer, but Adam lets it slide for now. He’s too goddamn tired for whatever this is.

“Are you hungry? Or maybe you want to take a shower,” Sarif says. “There’s a guest suite down the hall. You look like you could use it.”

The desire to slough this fucking mission off his skin wars with Adam’s desire not to owe Sarif even the smallest favour. Then again, there’s still nothing through his infolink, so they can’t need him back that urgently. In the end, he downs the last of the whiskey and nods his thanks.

The guest suite is about the size of Adam’s apartment back in Prague. Of course Sarif fell on his feet. Even after losing his company. Adam really shouldn’t have expected anything less. Standing in front of the mirror in the cavernous bathroom, he strips off his coat and his boots and his filthy tactical suit. Marchenko’s blood still coats it; it’s no wonder the London cops picked him up. _Sorry, ’brother’_ , Adam thinks, _but I’m coming for your masters_. Not right now, though. He hangs the suit on a hook and pays attention to the vitals in his HUD for the first time in hours, running his hands over his body as he catalogues the damage. Nothing essential hit. A whole line of bruises down his left side, turning from deep red to purple. Some scuffs to the finish on his leg that Koller will nag him about. Superficial cuts on his face. No bullet holes. He turns away from his reflection as soon as he’s done.

Sarif’s shower is as ostentatious as the rest of the place, but Adam has to admit that the water pressure feels good against the aches in his body. He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and letting the grime of the mission wash down the drain. At least, the stuff on the outside. There’s a simmering anger in the pit of his stomach, at himself for being too slow, at Marchenko for putting him in that position. He’s still not he made the right choice. He’s not sure any of these choices have been the right ones. He stands under the water for a long time before switching off the shower, wrapping himself in a ridiculous, DS-monogrammed towel, and heading back into the bedroom.

There’s a figure standing in the doorway; Adam has already activated the TITAN before he’s had time to register who it is.

“Fascinating,” Sarif says, dropping his bundle on the bed and moving closer. He raises one of his augmented hands to touch the iron shield, apparently unconcerned by the nano-blade Adam had reflexively drawn. Adam retracts it, letting the shield dissipate back into mist and his eyeshields slide back open. He takes a step back, feeling rattled and strangely embarrassed.

“What are you doing?” he says, grabbing the towel and tightening it around his waist.

“I thought you could use a change of clothes,” Sarif says. His eyes drift down Adam’s torso and then back up to his face. “So that’s the TITAN, huh? Never thought I’d see one for real.”

Adam nods, ducking past Sarif in search of clothing. Sarif follows.

“How do you manage the energy costs? The design I saw looked like it would suck up a hell of a lot of power. Does the electromagnet interact with your other augs?”

He puts a hand on the bare skin of Adam’s back and Adam whirls around. “Don’t.”

“Oh, come on, Adam,” Sarif says, his augmented hands raised in a defensive posture. “I’m just curious about this new hardware you got installed.”

“I didn’t get it installed,” Adam says, through gritted teeth. He didn’t get any of this installed, he doesn’t say. Not by choice.

Sarif waves a hand carelessly. “You know what I mean. This is experimental stuff! Seeing these concepts at work, it’s exciting. The implications—”

“Look, I appreciate you springing me but I’m not in the mood for playing science fair. Just let me get dressed and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Nonsense, Adam. You should stay here tonight. Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

“Like I said, I appreciate it, but I should be getting back.”

“I insist—”

“I said no,” Adam snaps. “You don’t get to order me around any more, Sarif.”

That statement hangs in the air between them for a few seconds. A flash of anger passes across Sarif’s face, but it’s gone again almost as soon as it appears.

“Adam,” he says, congenial again. “It’s not like that. I just want what’s best for you. You need to stop being so paranoid.”

“So you didn’t bring me here just to get a look at the experimental augs?”

“That’s just a happy side effect.”

Adam snorts. “Sure.”

“Adam, you wound me. You know I care about your well-being.”

 _When it suits you_ , Adam thinks. “Sure,” he says again, keeping his voice neutral. In his HUD, the CASIE flashes up a notification that it neutralised pheromones, and Adam’s temper begins to fray. “Come on, are you seriously trying to use a social enhancer? Did you forget you installed one in me? Along with a lot of other shit I didn’t ask for.”

“That shit has saved your life! More than once.”

“Yeah, mostly after you put it in danger.”

“For fuck’s sakes, Adam, I made you what you are—”

Adam laughs mirthlessly. “Which one is it, David? Did you save me or did you make me?”

“Both,” Sarif says, and kisses him.

Sarif’s lips are soft and warm and his skin smells of musky cologne. After a shocked few seconds, Adam springs back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Adam.” Sarif steps back into Adam’s space, raising a hand to cup Adam’s jaw. Adam flinches away, edging backwards until the mattress bumps against the back of his legs.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Adam,” Sarif says again, more firmly. “Fine, maybe you don't want me to touch you. But the way you reacted there. When was the last time you let anyone touch you? Has there even been anyone since—I mean, you’re depriving yourself, son. Of something that makes us human.”  
  
“You don’t know anything about what makes me human.”

The corners of Sarif’s mouth quirk up and he taps Adam’s chest, right over his mechanical heart. “I know better than anyone.”

This time when Sarif lifts his hand to Adam’s jaw, Adam doesn’t pull away. Sarif’s golden fingers trace the line of Adam’s beard, skirt around the cuts on his cheek, and slide into his hair. He tugs Adam’s head down to bring their mouths together again. Adam surrenders to the touch, opening up for Sarif’s tongue. He tastes of whiskey, smoky and sour, and Adam’s body responds to him, almost against his will. As much as he hates to admit that Sarif was right, it has been a long time.

Sarif’s hands find the edge of Adam’s towel and unfasten it, letting it drop to the ground. He pushes and Adam sits down heavily on the bed, Sarif following him down. His fingers skim over the bruises on Adam’s side before following the lines of his arm, tracing the Typhoon ports, the Sarif Industries logo etched into the metal, up to the flesh of Adam’s shoulder. Adam shivers as goosebumps rise on his skin.

“You really are something else, Adam,” Sarif says, fingers pausing at the implants on Adam’s chest. “The pinnacle of my life’s work. The perfect canvas. No Neuropozyne needed. I’m not sorry I gave these to you, son. You were made for them.”

“Don’t,” Adam says. He hates how strangled his voice sounds. “Don’t say that.” He pulls Sarif down and they wrestle for a moment, but Adam has Sarif’s augs on his side. He rolls them both over until he’s on his knees, breathing hard as he looks down at Sarif, the fabric of Sarif’s suit rough against his bare skin. This close, Adam can see signs of strain that make him readjust his first impressions: the dark circles under Sarif’s eyes, the stubble that’s a little longer than designer. Maybe the great David Sarif is mortal after all. He just hides it better than most. Adam brings his hand to Sarif’s face, tracing the new lines at the corner of Sarif’s mouth.

Sarif parts his lips, flicking his tongue over Adam’s fingertips before sucking his index finger into his mouth. Sensation floods Adam’s system, making him gasp.

Sarif laughs. “I know. Good, huh? You just don’t get that kind of authentic response with Tai Yong tech. Here, let me—” He kisses along Adam’s hand, featherlight touches with his lips and tongue.

Adam closes his eyes, helpless against the way his body lights up with pleasure. Despite what Sarif said, it’s not quite like it was. He thinks of all those hours spent with watch mechanisms, teaching his new body to respond the way his old one did. Being scared to touch anything or to be touched in case he lost control. Now here’s Sarif—Sarif who knows Adam’s body better than he knows it himself, Sarif who ruined him and rebuilt him—breaking down all of Adam’s careful defences.

It’s too much. He rolls off Sarif, scrambling back to the edge of the bed. Even his nakedness is less exposing than those reactions Sarif drew from him.

“Adam,” Sarif says, admonishing. He rolls over, placing a hand on Adam’s chest. “I just want to take care of you. Don’t you trust me?”

He should say no. He should say no and leave. But Sarif’s touches have awakened something in him that he’d almost forgotten existed. He doesn’t say no; instead, he slides his fingers into Sarif’s hair and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Sarif parts his lips and Adam surges forward, their tongues sliding together, one of the few places where they’re both still made of flesh. They kiss until Sarif pulls back with a gasp, panting for breath against Adam’s open mouth.

When Sarif’s augmented hand closes over Adam’s cock, his mind flashes to the watches again. But Sarif’s in control. He strokes Adam to full hardness with a practised flick of his wrist. Adam presses his face to Sarif’s neck and surrenders to sensation, his hips bucking into Sarif’s hand. Sarif brings up his other hand to stroke Adam’s hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement, meaningless praise. Pleasure grows in Adam’s core like embers stoked to an inferno, consuming every inch of him with white-hot want. He imagines he can feel it smoldering beneath his skin, beneath his dermal armour, synapses firing from Sarif’s touch along the routes he made in Adam, the neural augs, the carbon spine. Sooner than he expects, his orgasm shudders through him like a shockwave. He muffles his shout against Sarif’s skin and comes across those golden fingers.

Before Adam has finished processing, Sarif presses a kiss to his temple and drops his hand to slick between Adam’s thighs with his own come. He unzips his suit pants and shoves them down his legs, letting his cock spring free.

“What—” Adam starts, but Sarif silences him with a brush of lips.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Sarif says, and pulls Adam more tightly against him so his cock slides between Adam’s thighs. His fingers scrabble at Adam’s back as he ruts against him, and Adam’s overwhelmed flesh protests at the extra stimulation, but it seems to take no time at all before Sarif is grunting and shivering and spilling onto Adam, right on the cusp where metal meets organics.

Adam extracts himself from Sarif’s grip and rolls onto his back. They both lie panting for a long moment, before the cool air against Adam’s heated skin starts to become uncomfortable and brings him back to reality.

“I’m going to shower again,” he says, pushing himself upright. “Then I’m leaving.”

Sarif waves an affable hand. “I can’t stop you. But the offer’s still there if you want to stay.”

“I… thanks,” Adam says and retreats to the bathroom in confusion, his feet clicking across the tile.


End file.
